Welcome Home
by AZGirl
Summary: Until he's talked into it, guilt keeps Gibbs from going home.


**Title**: Welcome Home

**Summary**: Until he's talked into it, guilt keeps Gibbs from going home.

**Disclaimer**: NCIS is not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

**Spoilers**: Vague references to season 7.

**A/N**: I blame this one on a dream I had after a rough couple of days. I took some liberties with this story, which I hope will be forgiven.

Many thanks to my betas for reading this. All remaining mistakes are mine.

**ooooooo**

A non-descript truck drives towards some dockside warehouses. The passenger, a woman, is of average height and build with long black hair and startling blue eyes. She's wearing a business suit that seems out of place for the location and for the occasion. The driver of the truck is in his 50s with almost all grey hair. He's wearing his usual white t-shirt with a polo shirt over it (maroon), a navy jacket, and jeans.

As the two are driving, the man says, "Are you sure you want to see this now?"

"Of course. You finally finished it and I'm dying to know what it looks like."

"Almost finished," he reminds her. "She just needs a name."

The truck stops outside a warehouse that's near the water. The driver shifts the car into park then reaches for the door handle.

His companion lays a hand on his right forearm and says, "How did you get it out of the basement?"

He smirks and cryptically says, "I broke the bottle."

ooooooo

A flash of light is seen from the doorway of the warehouse next to where the truck is parked.

The sound of glass breaking is heard.

Another flash and more glass breaks.

ooooooo

A small boat is sailing on a nearly calm sea. No other vessels can be seen for miles and miles. It's almost as if this boat is alone on the vast open ocean.

The pilot is a man with silver hair wearing a worn out not-so-white-anymore t-shirt and jeans.

To most people, he would look like there was nothing at all wrong in his world. To a very select group of people though, if they saw him, they would think he looked lost.

From behind him a pair of arms snakes around his chest and gives him a hard hug.

The hugger lowers her head next to his and says, "Thank you for shaving that god awful beard off. You looked like a demented Santa Claus from some horror movie."

The pilot cracks a small smile and replies, "That sounds like something Tony would say."

Suddenly the small smile is gone and the lost look returns. The arms that had been around him retreat back to their owner.

A woman's voice asks, "You miss him, don't you?"

Without hesitation, he replies, "Yes."

"Then it's time to go back."

"No. Not yet."

"Well then, can I convince you to cut your hair? If anyone saw how long it was, they'd wonder if the Apocalypse wasn't coming in the next hour."

"How about I cut it when I can convince you to take that suit jacket off?"

"I'm cold," she evades.

"Fine," he returns in an irritated tone. "Just stop channeling Tony."

ooooooo

The waves around the small boat were choppy. They had been anchored to the same spot for awhile now, but the pilot now feels it's time to get moving again. He's dragging the anchor back on board when he hears the cabin door open behind him.

"I took it off," the woman quietly says.

The pilot turns and says, "Then I guess it's time for a hair cut."

"You need to go back."

"I know."

"It's not your fault," she reminds the pilot.

He looks back at her and sees the shirt she's been hiding all this time. It used to be a pale blue, but now red was radiating from a hole directly over his companion's heart.

"Yes. It is. I made a choice a long time ago and now people I know or love are paying the price."

"That may be true, but someone else also made a choice. Someone else also chose revenge. They could have used the evidence against you and prosecuted you to the full extent of the law, but they didn't. Instead they made a choice and their choice does not make my death your fault."

The pilot hung his head for a moment, then lifted it to stare out into the horizon. A light breeze lifts his hair a little before it dies down. The sea was now calm and he felt a measure of peace that he hadn't felt for quite some time.

He nodded his head once and said, "How about a hair cut?"

ooooooo

"I know it's not my fault, but I'm sorry," he quietly intoned.

"Rule six."

"It doesn't apply when it's between friends."

Laughing a little, she says, "Thank you. I never thought you considered me anything but a nuisance."

"You were that too," the pilot deadpanned before breaking out into a huge smile.

"It's time to go back. He's waiting for you."

"I know."

"You should treat him better. You mean a lot to him."

"I'll try," he says sincerely.

She grabs his hand and squeezes before saying, "Go."

He nods and turns the small boat back towards port. When he looks back, his companion is not there anymore.

ooooooo

"The others have pretty much given up on you, which is causing some problems within the team. Nothing bad yet, but it's getting there.

"I don't know if I can do this for much longer. It was easier when you were in Mexico a few years ago. We knew you were alive and well – OK – mostly well. That mustache though still gives me nightmares.

"I try to come every day, but some days are hard because of a case. You know how it is – was – is!"

The younger man placed his hand on the man in the bed's forearm and sighed heavily closing his eyes. Opening his eyes, he continues:

"Last night I told them to cut your hair. It was a disgrace to the Marine Corps. The beard was bad enough. You looked like some demented Santa Claus for awhile there. I can understand them not having the time to not shave you on a daily basis, but that beard was getting ridiculous. I took pictures to blackmail you with when you come home."

The younger man paused and looked at his friend's eyes hoping for a reaction, but there was none. He continued as if he had never stopped.

"I finally got permission from those evil dictators out there to let me keep you shaved. Which if you were awake, you'd probably rather die than let me help you out. That doesn't give you an excuse to leave though, OK?

"I wasn't going to come until later this afternoon, but my gut told me I should be here now. We've been working cold cases this week since it seems like all the bad guys are on vacation. Originally I was gong to have the team knock off early so that I could come for an extra long visit, but then my gut kicked in.

"I thought we could watch _She Wore a Yellow Ribbon_ – "

The tall man with the tired eyes and slightly baggy clothes never stopped talking but shifted his grip from the man's forearm to his hand and squeezed.

" – I thought maybe if you heard Rule 6 from the movie that maybe… I don't know. Maybe, it would help remind you of us and where you belong.

"But, then suddenly I found myself telling the team that I was going to be following up a lead on a cold case – which actually wasn't really a lie, come to think of it – and that I'd be gone the rest of the day. Tim and Ziva offered to go with me, but I told them to keep going over files.

"Normally I try to follow Rule 3 to the letter, but as soon as I got into my car, I turned my phone off. You can headslap me for it later if you want. I'm not sure why, but I also took my own car instead of one of the agency sedans.

"I guess if I'm going to be here for the long haul today, I should've stopped and got something to eat. They're all getting on my case again about not eating. God, Ducky's the worst of them all! You know how he is with his stories. But, I just haven't been hungry as much, if at all, lately."

Tony grimaces, then gently lifts the hand he's holding and bending his head down closer moves the limp hand to the back of his head for a pathetic version of a headslap. Tony holds the hand in place on the back of his head then drops his forehead the rest of the way to the mattress.

He begins speaking again, but the words are muffled:

"I know. I know. I need to take care of myself in order to take care of the team. But, Boss – Gibbs, I miss you so much. You're the one I always go to when I need advice or comfort or a shot of bourbon. You're like a fa– well, let's just say nothing's the same without you. Please come back to us – to me."

Lifting the slack hand off the back of his head, Tony sits up. Instead of placing the hand back on the mattress, he shifts his grip so that he's loosely holding his Boss' hand again. He begins to absently rub his thumb back and forth over the knuckles.

"I still can't figure out why my gut told me I had to be here right now instead of a few hours from now. Maybe it was because of the cold case I was going over. It was one of the first cases you and I worked on after Blackadder left. I always felt it was my fault we couldn't solve that case. I should have – "

"No," a quiet and raspy voice spoke out.

" – figured that…wait. What? Boss! Did you say something?" Tony asks while standing; focusing on Gibbs' face.

In response, he feels Gibbs' fingers weakly gripping his on the hand he was holding. Tony tried to get his Boss to respond again.

"Open your eyes, Boss."

But, instead of seeing eyes open, he hears Gibbs says in that raspy whisper, "Not fault."

"What? Boss, I have to go get someone. This place doesn't have call buttons on these beds."

Tony begins to disentangle his fingers from Gibbs' hand, but Gibbs hold on tighter.

"I'll be back, Boss. I promise," he reassures and pats Gibbs' hand. "I never leave a man behind. You taught me that."

Gibbs fingers relax and Tony rushes to the door.

Yelling in an authoritative voice, he says, "I need someone in here stat! Gibbs in room 23 is waking up!"

Tony then rushes back to his friend's side. He slips his hand back into Gibbs' and smiles when Gibbs grips his hand again.

"Open your eyes, Boss. Don't make a liar out of me. Open your eyes. Please.

"I need you to come back. I can't stand not having one of the people I care about most in my life anymore.

"Where are those nurses? No, no, no, no… Boss, come on, please!

"You're so close. You're almost home. Sail into port and drop anchor – it's time for you to be home.

"I've missed you, Gibbs. Please. Come home."

The fingers in Tony's hand tighten once more and finally he's rewarded with a sight he'd never thought he'd see again – Gibbs' open blue eyes. He watches as Gibbs' eyes blink once, twice, then slide to look into his own.

"Hey, Boss. Welcome home."

Just as someone finally comes to the room, Tony sees Gibbs' smile slightly before hearing a hoarsely whispered:

"Missed you too."

ooooooo

_The End_.

**ooooooo**

**A/N**: The actual dream didn't include Tony, but he muscled his way into the story anyway and then wouldn't shut up! ;o]

_**Thanks for reading!**_


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